Awakening
by NitrogenFixation
Summary: What do you do when you awaken to find yourself without a memory to speak of? When time and darkness have worn away your mind, your sanity...what can you do to restore humanity? / Season 0, NOT AU. Yami no Yuugi-centric.
1. Game One

**Awakening  
**_by NitrogenFixation_

**Game One  
**

He was a shadow.

A wisp of a memory brushed past his mind, as he hovered, incorporeal, among darkness, unsensing, unknowing, of the world of deep black surrounding him. A brief sensation of cold, smooth, solid touching him flooded his mind, but he felt nothing. The sensation faded to a smooth, soft texture, unnamed.

There were sometimes sensations, as he wondered, contemplated, in fading, dim concepts. His thoughts had long ago lost any form except wavering, swaying mists, brushing past him, in this world where all things had a form and yet they seemed to only vaguely exist.

His comprehension solidified sometimes – into some ancient language, into _words_.

_How long..._

_Why is it so dark? Why did they put me here?_

_Hurry. I need to be free._

_How...long..._

He felt weight, for the first time in – _how long?_ He didn't know.

His eyes opened; he heard, in the muffled, noiseless existence, a sharp, metallic _click_, echoing distantly in his ears.

_What -_

Pain. It flooded his limbs, his _body_, and he felt sensations he had no recollection of yet that felt intimately familiar.

He didn't directly remember; rather, conceptual thoughts faded into words and some new, ancient comprehension took his mind again.

He saw the cold stone, his broken body, and his shadow-form rose up on the wall.

He felt irrational, foreign rage, and the urge to _protect_.

_Game time.

* * *

_

The first thing he felt was the ice-cold concrete beneath him, pressed against his cheek, his hands, gritty and cold; he felt soft cloth on his body. A distant, humming roar reached his ears, as well as the harsh, uneven thudding of his heart.

He smirked, the image of his victim coming to mind even as the boiling, inexplicable _wrath_ floods his veins, scalding him. _"You have trespassed on the domain of my mind."_

He pressed the skinned palms to the grit, pushing himself up, feeling blood on his lip. He rose to his feet and lifted his hand to remove the blood and grime from his face. He'd mind the wounds later.

"_Ushio-san,"_ he said, his tone almost _pleasant_ as his searing, furious eyes bore down on the trespasser. _He will pay._

"Hm?" The hulking teen turned, facing him with narrowed eyes. He smirked further as the ground fell away to a sloping dome, him at its spire and the only thing saving Ushio from drowning a thin rope and the loose grip that wanted so much to release. _Not yet. He will pay, for he has -_

He almost faltered, though he did not doubt. _What has he -_

_He will pay. He has trespassed on the domain of my mind._

"What are you?" Ushio clung to the thin rope, grasping it tightly in his huge hands. He turned to face his challenger with an angry expression, attempting to hide his nervous fear. Gold light glinted off the Puzzle around his neck, the object itself seeming to glow. "Yuu...Yuugi?" _What?_

It was of no matter. _He will pay._

"_Yo, Ushio-san!"_ His smirk widened wickedly. _"I've got what you want right here."_

"What? You've got the money?" the big man snarled, then, seeing the package taped to the steeple, smirked in amusement. "So you brought it. Then I wouldn't have needed to put you through that."

_He must suffer!_ Though he only smirked outwardly, he burned and itched to punish this monster. The words indicated something akin to remorse, but the black-haired teen's expression indicated nothing but amusement.

"So hurry and hand it over!" sneered Ushio, trying to ignore his precarious position of dangling from a rope off of a very high structure.

"_How boring, just handing it over."_ He smirked down at his prey. _He will suffer..._

"What?"

"_How about it? Have a little game with me." Suffer..._

"Game?"

"_But it's no ordinary game..."_ _No – don't -_

He almost faltered. _"It's a Yami no Game." What was that...? No...it doesn't matter._ His brief flash of uncertainty faded, and certainty replaced it. _He must suffer._ Rage swelled under his skin again. _Suffer._

"Ha, interesting!" sneered the torturer arrogantly. "I, Ushio, have never lost a game! I accept!"

_You have damned yourself to your fate._ _"Impressive, Ushio-san."_ He smiled wickedly. _"Here we go."_

He drew out a deck of playing cards and released the rope, almost chuckling as Ushio grunted in surprise as it gave way. It held, though, pulling tight around his waist against the heavy man's weight. He jumped, sliding down the dome and leaving a column of cards, face-down, on it. He dug in his heel as he became level with Ushio, the remainder of the deck sliding down the dome, as if controlled by an invisible force.

_Game, set._

"_The rules are simple. We take turns. The player flips over a card, going up by the value of the card. The other goes down."_ His smirk remained fixed in place, eyes glinting with malicious rage. _"The person who makes it to the top wins the prize."_

"Alright, I got it!" _Greed. Hunger. Impatience._ "Then I'll start!" Ushio flipped over the nearest card. "Ten of diamonds!" He laughed roughly. "Well, Yuugi -" _What -_ "better prepare yourself!" His rough voice counted the steps out loud as he climbed upward.

_...It means nothing. _He reached for the nearest card. _Jack of diamonds. "I've got ten."_

"What?"

He stood slowly, some part of him hyper-aware of the sheer drop at his back, the dangerous, hundred-foot plummet...

He clenched his teeth and began taking steps.

Ushio grabbed a card hurriedly. "Two of spades! I'm catching up!"

He smirked, looking at his opponent with deadly burning in his eyes. _"We can't have that now..."_ His voice was almost amiable. He took a card. _"Queen of spades."_

"What?" Ushio growled. "Three of spades!"

"_Nine of hearts."_

"Six of clubs!"

"_Jack of spades."_

_No..._

He paused mid-step.

_...it is nothing..._

It didn't take long for Ushio to dangle dangerously at the edge of the dome. He smirked wickedly down at the man, although his vision swam ever so slightly as he noted the distant current of water in the background.

"_What's the matter, Ushio-san? Nothing left?" You will pay... "I'm one step away from the top."_

"Shut up! The next card I pick up will turn this around!" Ushio snarled at him furiously, his eyes flickering to the money, then grabbed the only card within reach. His expression became one of shock. "J-joker...?"

"_Too bad, Ushio-san. Joker is a miss. My turn."_

"What? Don't screw with me!" Ushio threw the card into the currents below. "You fixed this from the beginning!"

He reached for the only card he could get. _"Ace of diamonds."_ His rage churned under his skin, struggling to unleash itself. _"Victory is mine."_

"Shut up!" roared the enraged Ushio, clawing his way up the dome.

"_Breaking the rules? If you do that, you'll face something terrible." I can see the greed in your heart, Ushio._

_...no..._

"Quiet!" A fist swung at him, and his smirk never left as he dodged, slipping behind Ushio, as if carried on the air. His rage filled the air around them now.

"_I knew you couldn't obey the rules."_

"Fall!" Ushio's strong hands tore the rope easily. He merely smirked. _You have trespassed on the domain of my mind..._

He grabbed the gold Puzzle on his neck and drove it into the side of the dome, still smirking.

"I did it!" Ushio laughed insanely above him, reaching for the package on the steeple. His smirk widened. "What is this?...It's not money!"

"_The Door of Darkness...has opened."_

"What...?"

The steeple broke. Ushio yelled as he fell.

His rage burned deeply.

"_The Yami no Game shows a person's true character. You will be swallowed in your own greed."_

"What?" For a moment, his voice sounded of genuine fear. "...Keh. It's alright, I'll just get wet!" he laughed then.

He smiled.

A sharp scream echoed below him, then, nothing at all.

_Justice.

* * *

_

"_Such a fragile body,"_ he murmured to himself, frowning softly at the tender, painful bruises on the skin as he stared at the reflective surface before him. He brushed his fingertips against his cheek lightly, feeling the unfamiliar sensation of pain. He shook his head, closing his burning crimson eyes, then opening them to look at the grit embedded in the heels of his hands. He looked down at the strange white basin and metal protrusions over it, and the knobs beside it.

_What to do..._

After a long moment of _not_ wondering, something suddenly seemed to click, as if someone had just whispered the answer in his ear. He hesitantly put one palm under the metal protrusion and turned a knob with the other hand. The sudden, unfamiliar sensation of ice cold water flooding over a wound hit him, and he jerked back, sending droplets of water splattering onto the (very blue) wall and his face. He stared in shock at the flow of water that, even after several moments, did not cease. He shook his head slightly. _Focus._ Reluctantly, he put his hand back under the stream of liquid and turned the other knob, increasing the flow slightly. After a moment, the temperature changed. He blinked and adjusted first knob. The water became warmer again.

_I...see. So this one controls heat, and this one, cold..._

Careful not to burn himself, he made the water hotter and then braced himself. This part would be a little more painful, he figured. He gently rubbed the raw skin, then more vigorously, clenching his jaw as it throbbed. He pulled it out after a moment of scrubbing to see the dirt and grime gone, and the pain fading slowly. Satisfied, he repeated the process with the other one.

With clean hands, he turned the knobs until the water ceased to flow, then looked in the mirror. _Now what?_

Then he actually _looked_ at himself. Dirt and grit and grime on one cheek (though that may have been partly the dark bruise forming on both of them), dirt and grit and grime on his bedraggled clothes, dirt and grit and grime in his ruffled hair, haggard, tired bags under his eyes, a split lip, a cut on the cheek that wasn't covered in dirt and grit and grime...

He looked down at the water-bringer. There was no _way_ he could clean up using that. He frowned, looking to his right, then blinked at the thing that he had not noticed before.

A pair of foggy glass panels, one of which appeared to slide. Curiously, he stepped towards it, touching the handle on the metal frame of the panel. He tried to slide it. It gave fairly easily; cautiously, he peered through the gap. There was another pair of knobs and a metal water-thing directly in front of him, and a narrow rim on which containers were set at about knee-level. He stared, confused, and – almost automatically – reached out to turn one of the knobs.

A spray of water burst past him from above. He reeled back, hitting the basin sharply, and stared up at the other water-thing that he hadn't noticed before, as it was well above his head. It was a different shape than the other two water-things, and water sprayed out of it in many thin streams rather than one. He blinked at it.

_...it's for washing,_ he realized slowly, and he did not think to question how he knew this. He looked down at his clothes. He'd have to remove them.

The running water was the only motion in the room for a moment.

_Undo the buttons._ Hesitantly, he raised his sore hands and fumbled with the uppermost of the small plastic things holding his shirt together. After a moment, he successfully undid it. He strained his neck to see the next button. It took only slightly less time than the first. After two more, he'd devised a technique to remove them, one that his hands did almost automatically, as if the muscles were trained to do it.

He slipped out of the blue jacket, then the white shirt, looking at the Puzzle for a moment. _Leave it,_ he decided, then undid the button on the slacks and fumbled with them for a moment, then managed to slide them down to his ankles. He stared at his black shoes for a moment, then grabbed one by the heel and pulled it off. It didn't move much at first, then gave abruptly, causing him to stumble. His shoulder hit the wall roughly, and he flinched, feeling the large, throbbing, dark reddish bruise there. He straightened up carefully, then set the shoe on the ground and leaned his back on the wall, removing the second one more carefully. It came off with no major incident and joined the other on the ground.

Successfully stripped, he stepped into the small – _room?_ - and under the stream of water, feeling the sudden, icy water run over his skin. He shuddered at the abrupt sensation, and after a moment began to shiver steadily. He reached for the knobs with both hands, adjusting them until the water was hot enough to border on being uncomfortable.

It felt inexplicably familiar. It felt good.

He rubbed his face with his wet hands, wondering at the warmth, enjoying it. It soothed the bruises and cuts, although they still stung and ached. His hair felt heavy and soaked, but the feeling was not unwelcome. His limbs felt as if they were lead, weighty and immovable. He wavered slightly under the stream of water, and sighed in content.

A drop of water leaked into his left eye, and he discovered the discomfort of it. He grimaced slightly, but didn't rub it, too out of energy to raise the hand to do so.

After many long minutes, he finally raised his hands and scrubbed his hair, intent on cleaning it of dirt and grit and grime. He felt the tiny bits of rock in it and patiently removed them. There didn't seem to be many, and he was sure that the dirt and grime was washed out. After a few minutes of not feeling any more of the little rocks (and another of simply enjoying the water), he turned the knobs until the water stopped.

He almost started to step out of the "room," then realized he was soaking wet. He looked around. Something drew his gaze directly beside the door, where a metal bar held two large navy clothes. _There._ He grabbed the nearest one and stepped onto the mat beside the door. He rubbed his skin gently with the cloth, feeling the strange, fuzzy softness. It was steadily making him sleepy. He quickly dried off, picked up his clothes and shoes, stepping out of the room with the cloth slung over one shoulder.

_Sleep..._ It sounded so incredibly welcoming, and the soft blue cushion in the corner looked so comfortable. He didn't want to sleep without wearing anything, for some reason (that reason wasn't coming to mind at that moment). He looked around, uncertain, and dropped the dirty clothes and cloth in a heap by the cushion that seemed more and more appealing by the moment. He glanced at it again, and noticed suddenly a bit of lighter blue cloth under the small, pillowy cushion on top. He impulsively reached out and lifted the small cushion, finding a neatly-folded shirt underneath – medium blue, decorated with star shapes. He picked it up and found a pair of matching pants under it.

He slipped into those and pair of short pants that had been under the starry pants, savoring the feeling of the silky material on his skin. He stared at the wall, satisfied and exhausted, as one hand came up to grasp the Puzzle gently, and collapsed abruptly into the comfort of the cushion, and the comfort of sleep.

* * *

"_I'm following your example. I brought a treasure with me today, too," _the bully said with a dogged grin. The boy felt curiosity. _"Wanna see it?"_

"_Yeah!"_ the child eagerly said, gazing up at the blond. The bully chuckled shortly.

"_Well, that's too bad."_ The boy frowned slightly. _"My treasure...You can see it but you cannot, so I can't show you."_ The child's brow furrowed as the bully tilted his head away.

"_You can see it but you can't?"_

"_It's _Yuu-jou!_ We can see it in each other, but you can't really see friendship, get it?"_ The boy nodded eagerly.

"_Yeah!"_

But -

"You can see it, and yet, you can't..." echoed a very quiet voice, unheard by anyone but himself.

A riddle. He liked riddles. They were as interesting as his games.

"You can see it, yet, you can't," he repeated, opening dull red eyes to blackness. Nothing but a bright glow ahead illuminated what appeared to be a hall, and the light glowed at such an angle that he could see nothing very near him, and nothing beyond it. He saw a cobblestone floor and brick walls, barely glinting in the glow. He stepped forward slowly, curious as to where he was.

He paused as he came near to the glow, allowing his sensitive eyes to adjust to its brightness, before examining it. It appeared to be a...doorway? Cautious yet curious, he peered into it.

The room was bright white, the walls glowing with purity and shining with an ethereal light. He couldn't help but let his surprise show on his face. Never had he seen such a place, so full of innocence. The ground seemed to be made of glass and light.

There was a soft-looking cushion in one corner, the same as the one he'd fallen into before waking up here, a few strange objects laying on the floor in bright colors – none of them seeming to interrupt the pure whiteness – a small wooden table beside the cushion, and another, larger wooden table on the opposite wall with strange slats and knobs. He peered at the star-decorated cushion and then some sort of golden thing with a glass object in it, blue fabric stretched around it, then at the wood-framed image beside the thing. It held an elderly man, beaming back at him. He didn't know the man, but some part of him felt sad – the inherent loving expression on the man's face made him sure that he was a good person – while the rest of him was confused. He took a cautious step back, almost stepping on one of the brightly-colored things. He frowned at it. Now, closer, it looked almost like...a little human? He stepped carefully over it and finally noticed something that, thank the gods, he could make sense of.

It was a small horse figure made of flat wood pieces, mounted on curved rockers. He tilted his head at the strange object. It looked as if it were a child's toy. Now, thinking of it, so did the strange little colored things... He shook his head – it was of no matter – and moved to the larger table.

Four other images were on it. One contained the same blond boy he'd seen before, when he was – but...why was he oddly torn between being contemptuously glad and overwhelmingly sad? The boy was giving him a dogged smirk, a twinkle of goodness covered by the ferocity in his eyes. He felt the strife in his heart and head, the opposite emotions doing furious battle in him. He could feel his heartbeat picking up, his breathing deepen and hasten, his eyes grow dim and unfocused as he was swallowed into the –

He turned to the next image, beating down the feelings that burned at his skin. It was of a brown-haired boy, another he'd seen once before, with copper-brown eyes that glowed with justice and goodness. He was grinning with determination. He felt a distinct sadness, not quite like with the elderly man, nor like with the blond; but there was no contempt to pollute his faint sadness. Nevertheless, there was sadness there, and sadness was something he could deal with. The conflict of two contradicting emotions, however, he could not – it would overwhelm him, draw him into the darkness of deep thought, a place he dared not tread.

There were two more images. The next one was of a girl he did not recognize, with her long white-blue hair and light blue eyes, full of sweetness and light-heartedness. There was a carefree sort of joy about her, and the same tingling sorrow crawled on his skin, no less intense. She was trapped, smiling sweetly at him, gazing with happy eyes.

The last image was of a second girl, this one with shortish, dark brown hair and brown eyes. She had the smile of an exasperated but loving mother, and a tenderness yet firmness in her eyes. He tilted his head, examining her warm, fierce, loving eyes, her strange smile of resigned exasperation, her inherent goodness. The frame was different from the others – white gold, a twisted golden rope in the middle of the shining white. Unlike the other rustic wooden frames, obviously handled often and well-loved, this one was shining and glowing and clean, unmarred, like the pure white light.

He frowned at the girl. The sorrow on his skin felt heavy and burdened, but also with loving tenderness, overwhelmingly joyful affection, and agonizing pain accompanying it, searing at him. His skin itched and burned. He didn't like the feeling. For a moment, he almost thought they came from outside of himself, but dismissed the thought process promptly.

Turning away, he gazed at the blank walls, remembering the riddle.

"You can see it, and yet, you can't..." murmured the spirit to himself, brushing his fingertips on the wall of the innocent room and watching the black that surrounded his touch. "What is this thing...?" He closed his eyes, feeling the conflict of light and dark under his hand as he flattened his palm against the warm wall.

Were there any clues? Only the images stood out. He had protected the boys – mostly to protect himself and to judge. It was his nature, he knew – it was automatic and it was the most natural thing in the world. To judge the character of a man in whom he knew there was evil – perhaps the worst evil, greed. Selfishness.

"Self." He rested his other hand on the wall, pressing his weight into it, feeling the strange light pulse under his fingers, cautiously surrounding the shadows – curious. A strange light. A strange feeling – the innocent examination of the odd darkness that intruded, harmlessly inspecting the foreign oddity. He made an effort to remain still as the light gently – what? He wasn't sure. It was as if it were prodding the darkness, and suddenly it didn't feel so solid, like he was a liquid shadow mingling with the tender light, reality and form melting away as his basest being became all that he was.

"_Self,"_ he repeated. "Self is the root of sin."

But he was puzzled by this light, warmly sharing the open space with the darkness. Light cast shadows; never could they join. But this...this light was not driving him away, but _welcoming him._ It was not wary of his dark presence; merely curious. It was not concerned for itself.

"Self," he mused, "is evil. And...what you can see, and yet, cannot...it is something good."

What could this thing be?

The light danced around him, adjusting to his dark presence and returning to its playful nature, twinkling and shining all about him, full of joy and radiating it to him. He frowned, feeling the weight return to his body and the feeling to his physical form as solidity was restored. Crimson eyes slid open and he turned and absently left the room, glancing back only once he was out the door. The darkness where his hands had been was fading into the light.

He frowned slightly. That was, after all, the nature of light. Darkness should not – could not – exist in its presence.

Facing front met him with a glowing darkness and shadowy gold – a door of metal and stone with the eye symbol so familiar to him on it, as well as various other shapes and symbols, all of them looking ancient and eerie. He narrowed his eyes as the door creaked, widening to welcome him, the darkness beyond it familiar and sinister.

He stepped into the shadow and the glow behind him dimmed, as though he were viewing it through a curtain of darkness. An oddly sinister golden shine was on the stone walls and the floors, the highlights of them seeming to provide the room's only light. It was a dim, dank, dreary place with the oppressive feeling of...

Of a tomb.

His eyes narrowed at it. It was too familiar for his comfort.

Setting aside the thoughts, he set course for the first stairway of the labyrinth of them, the faint highlights of the steps and the many doors glowing as distantly as his eyes could see. He did not need to open most of them, weaving up and through the many paths, ignoring some stairs while decidedly taking others, never faltering or pausing to consider. He could feel the steps laid out before him, knew the path before he'd ever walked it, before he'd comprehended that he might. He knew where he would draw to a halt, eyes closed to the door with its eerie eye staring back at him, and precisely how far the door was from him when his hand extended and his fingertips brushed it. The stone felt familiar, old as the sands, old as the shadows. It was cold but firm, though it gave as he pushed it open very gently. He let his eyes open to the lonely room with a lonely throne and darkness shielding the walls and ceiling from view. He walked forward and rested his hand flat on the carved grey stone.

With great regality, he sat on it, feeling strangely tired but like sleep was a mere distant memory. His fingers intertwined as his elbows rested on the stone, leaning back into it. His eyes closed slowly, and he wished for sleep.

His mind wandered in darkness and silence, seeking for a rest that would never come.

* * *

He could hear breathing.

It was even, deep, in a way that indicated sleep. His eyes opened and he stared out the door into the blackness beyond, puzzled. The soft breaths didn't seem to come from anywhere near him, or even around him. His mouth twitched in a frown and he listened more closely. It was as if it was his own breathing... Strange. He wasn't asleep.

The breathing paused – _his_ breathing paused – then drew in slightly, as if in a gasp. It evened out again. He frowned. _Very_ strange.

He stood and strode at an easy pace out the door, deciding to discover what was causing this odd phenomenon. He closed his eyes as he paused at the top of the stairway leading down from the door.

_Breathing. Focus on the breathing._ It felt near. He wandered towards where it seemed centralized outside himself.

He did not dare look at the labyrinth he knew was there; if he thought too much or looked too closely... He wasn't afraid. Simply cautious. Caution was wise. Caution meant that he would not be easily caught off-guard, he decided firmly, distracting himself from his path. He frowned as the breathing faded slightly, and as his breathing became more shallow. His eyes opened.

_An unwise choice,_ he realized too late, any emotion he may have had frozen in him as he teetered at the edge of a platform at the top of a flight of stairs. The sandstone at the side of it did not appear to be crumbling. He narrowed his eyes slightly. He had lost concentration, taken one too many steps, and it had nearly cost him. It was a long drop to the stairs below the ledge. Perhaps, though, it was a good place to open his eyes; he could make out the sandstone floor of what amounted to his "waiting room." He could see nothing in the deep darkness near the door except the odd glow that didn't reach past a few feet.

The breathing was very faint, very distant, and his own came in short, evenly-timed breaths, barely enough oxygen for him to move, and it would be painful if he tried to move too quickly with his breathing this shallow. This in mind, he walked at a calm, steady pace down the flight of stairs he'd halted on, then paused, peering over the edge and ignoring the icy, lurching feeling in his chest somewhere near his diaphragm as he peered over the edge, scoping the quickest and possibly only way to get down. It was a bit like a game, finding the proper path to the exit of a maze – except this maze was three-dimensional and appeared to go out of his current line of sight. He smirked. _A challenge._

It was easy enough to find his way down to the point where a hall disappeared into the wall – the only possible way out – and from then on, he could only guess and judge which way to go, for he was caught in a series of halls in the depth of the walls and stairs and doors. He had not seen the path he'd taken the first time, and wasn't surprised when he got it wrong, ending up on top of a broad pillar. He crouched in the odd light that seemed to have no source, as if the ground and walls themselves emitted it. He could see the entirety of the first platform now, lit by faint, soft light from the stones.

What struck him was not that which was the same. It was not the ancient, dust-worn hieroglyphics etched into the walls, dark and ominous, a constant, slight pressure on the back of his mind, nor the heavy shadows that thickly stretched across the walls and pressed heavily against the little, dark gold glow that seemed to be from the gleam of the sandstone floor itself. No, the immediate object of his attention was the strange little being who was so sorely out-of-place in the ominous markings, the sentient shadows, the dark, golden-hued glow they grappled with.

For a moment, the shadows dominated, smoothing in front of him to become a perfect mirror, showing him himself –

_No,_ he corrected; not himself. Someone else. Someone very close to himself – someone unaware of the mirror image that reached out to touch the shadow-mirror, then withdrew the hand, as if it had been shocked.

The mirror faded and he was merely peering down from the pillar's top at his reflection – his opposite. He glanced down the sheer drop. A mere ten feet, no more than that. It could kill a lesser being. With a jolt and an unfamiliar lurch in his gut, he vaulted off the ledge, his mind swimming for a moment at the back while the front blanked and his body took control, landing in a neat, low crouch, the only noise being the dull _thud_ of the impact of his shoes.

He remained crouching where the dim glow of his surroundings could not reach him. The intruder – _Not intruder,_ he corrected himself; _the visitor_ – the visitor had turned anyway, and was staring him in the eye, as if he could see into his very soul.

Something in the shadow's gut twisted sharply as he stared into eyes that seemed reddish amethyst in hue, a softer, dimmer version of his own harsh crimson eyes, tinged with royal purple. _Reflection._

His hair was strange, like a misshapen star, black as an abyss at the roots and deep crimson at the tips, perhaps a mild magenta touch. Blond bangs dangled down his forehead, over his temples, to where they brushed his cheeks. His clothes were neat – a black shirt, an odd leather collar-type object that seemed foreign to his appearance, dark pants, a blue jacket. _Mirror._

He was small, smaller even than himself, but he could feel the small one's great kindness. He could see the innocence in his gaze, the gentleness in his slow movements, the curiosity and calculation behind it – but not scheming. Never scheming. _Opposite._

He was staring back with the same curious expression, a strange calm about him despite the oddness of the situation. He was definitely afraid, and it showed in the way he nervously glanced back at the door, but he was _level-headed_, something that he – the _other_ him – could appreciate. He examined himself calmly, and the dark one wasn't sure which one was "he." _Equal._

"Who are you?" and the alarm seeped through mildly, the boy warily peering at the shadowed one, who stared back with steady, unemotional eyes. He fiercely locked away his uncertain pause – what did the small one mean...? - and did not allow the boy to know his true feelings on the question.

"Who," he echoed with a calm but stern tone, "are _you_?" The boy smiled politely – nervously.

"My name's Yuugi," he said.

_Name. Yuugi._ He did not allow the strange, unfamiliar words to trip him up, his face remaining the image of blankness.

"I have no _name_," he stated blandly, staring at the boy without confusion, as if this were a completely normal occurrence. He blinked slowly at the boy, his eyes softening from their natural glare as the boy looked surprised.

"_No name?_" he muttered under his breath. "What do people call you, then?"

_Call...me?_ "Who would call me this name?" he questioned stiffly. The boy tilted his head, obviously puzzled, but refraining from behaving impolitely.

"People. Other people, here. Do they call you anything other than 'you'?"

"There were no other people," he stated in the same bland tone, "until you came."

"Only you?" The boy was genuinely surprised. "In this huge place?" He gestured widely with his arms at their surroundings. He did not have to look at the labyrinth.

"I have never met another person until now." He blinked at the boy, not sure if this was the norm – but he assumed it was. It was all he'd known in as long as he could remember.

"Wow," the boy whispered childishly (_sadly_). _"It must've been lonely..."_

"Lonely?" he muttered, brow twitching slightly as if to furrow at the word. The boy looked at him in confusion.

"What?"

"You wondered if it was lonely for me," the nameless one reminded blandly.

"No, I didn't..." he murmured. The shadowed one let it go. "Then..." Their eyes met, and an odd pause ensued. "...what do I call you?" finished the boy, looking more uncertain. It wasn't what he'd been going to say. He blinked slowly at the small one, believing for a moment that the boy was confused.

"_Call_ me," he more stated than questioned, eying the boy warily. He spoke of strange things, of names – titles? - things he did not know of, in the depths of his darkness. The boy shifted in obvious discomfort, and for a moment, he felt disdain at the very evident inability to control emotions.

"Yeah..." he murmured. "Like, when other people are around, we can't just say, 'Hey, you.' Nobody would know who was being spoken to."

"No one else is here," the dark one informed, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world – and it may have been, for how limited their world was.

"But..." The boy looked a little amused and mostly like he was trying to figure out how to explain what he was thinking. The dark one thought that the boy must have lost his mind, babbling about this nonsense – but he was curious, so he allowed it. "What if there _were_ people here? What would I call you?" he tried, aiming for a different approach.

"I do not know." His brow furrowed ever so slightly; little by little, this boy was becoming an irritant with his strange knowledge and foreign concepts. The smaller one frowned slightly, still nervous and a little timid.

"Well -" The boy stopped, then continued, "can I give you a name?" _Give_ him a name? Could that be simply done? "I mean, just something to call you," he hastily corrected. "Until...you have a real name."

He felt his mouth twitch in an uncertain frown. This..._name_ seemed very important, as if it was very defining of him; as if it would contain his whole identity, shadows and all. He stared steadily at the nervous boy who wasn't quite looking him in the eye. Could he trust this boy to correctly identify him? To _name_ him?

"I -" he paused as they both inhaled gently, the small one looking into his eyes with calm nervousness. Contradictory. The shadows shifted as the mirror stared back -

He closed his eyes. "You may."

There was a long silence in which neither of them breathed. He found himself feeling a strange discomfort in his mind as the soundless moments slipped away, useless, never able to be recovered, and restlessly strained to hear a single breath from – from his what? _Mou hitori no ore_ came to mind – his strange counterpart.

"_Ya-mi,_" he heard them both whisper much too softly for it to truly be heard. He opened his eyes and breathed in time with the boy, not of his own volition.

"Yami," the boy repeated, the synchronicity of their soft, even breaths never so much as faltering. "Is that okay?"

He deadlocked on the boy's eyes, finding a warm certainty in them for the first time since he'd seen him. There was still shy timidness and humbleness, but a new, strange light joined the darker emotions of doubt and the deep-rooted loneliness.

_Loneliness._

"Yami," he agreed quietly. The boy – _Yuugi_ – smiled.

A small part of _self_ deepened; diminished. He did not smile back, but closed his eyes, expression soft – blank.

_What is this?_ His heart thudded softly in his painfully empty chest. _What is this...pain?_

His breathing thinned, and shrill beeping reached him. Crimson flashed with suspicion as they opened to stare at the boy, just before the small one stepped out the door, as if in a trance, and turned down the hall to where he had been when his eyes opened. The beeping grew ever-louder.

"..._Yuugi._" The unfamiliar word rolled off his tongue naturally, just before the shrill beep cut off. The sense of _light_ vanished from the dark, foreboding place.

"Yuugi?" he whispered, a little desperate, his voice echoing off the walls of the cavernous, endless, lifeless labyrinth in which he was trapped.

Alone...again.

He turned and walked back up the stairs, riddle forgotten. He had some thinking to do.

* * *

_Title:_ Inspired by the Switchfoot song of the same name that simply will not get out of my head.

_Yami no Yuugi's name:_ I am about to write a story that's going to be at least 27 chapters long, and you expect me to get through it referring to Yami no Yuugi as "he"? Though he was never referred to as "Yami" in season 0, is that too much of a stretch? Is it really? I really don't think so.

_Yami no Game:_ Partly Japanese. "Game of Darkness" or "Dark Game" - or, as one may prefer, Shadow Game, although "yami" doesn't mean "shadow," it means "darkness."

"_You have trespassed on the domain of my mind"_ - From the manga. In the manga, "the domain of my mind" was translated to "my realm of influence." What I used is the literal translation. Exact manga quote: "You've stumbled into my realm of influence." Mine's a bit of a different principle.

_Yuu-Jou:_ The Japanese word _"yujo"_ means "friendship." It's a pun on _Yuu_gi and _Jou_nouchi's names.

_Various other things:_ It's late and I'm tired, so I can't look through the whole thing for any Japanese words I used that I forgot about. If there's one that I didn't cover that confused you, let me know. If there's anything else that confused you, let me know. I'll reply as soon as possible (probably within the day, unless I'm especially busy or tired).

* * *

**A/N:** The first draft of this was a little under 4000 words. Then I realized that I shouldn't just include the post-episode stuff, even if it would be just for this chapter – how uninteresting – and wrote 7 more pages in about three hours. It is now over 6600 words. Now if only I could do that for everything else I write.

It needs some work, but basically, it's what I think season 0 was like for Yami – therefore, mostly from his point of view. Obviously, all of this is subjective – purely my interpretation (which I don't consider AU, by the way, as no specific scenario defies the law of canon). I like to think Yami was a little more lost than people like to believe he was when the Puzzle was first completed. His mind was muddled, his memory gone, and he probably only had limited conceptions of the world outside of the darkness. Being alone in nothing for thousands of years can mess anyone up.

For anyone wondering about Yuugi interacting with Yami...as stated in the summary and above paragraph, this isn't AU, not so much that I'd have to modify the events of the show itself. There are changes, but not excessive ones. Don't worry about it.

**Inspiration note:** While this is based on Season 0, what really inspired me to write this was FlikFreak's novelization of the season, titled simply, _The Shadow Games_. It can be found on FFN. The original piece of writing wasn't intended to become this at all - I started with the scene of Yami wandering the labyrinth, and it ended up being transformed into this. _Paradise_ by llivla, _Lighten my Darkness_ by emeralddarkness, and _Twined_ by Kitt Chaos were also great encouragements and inspirations. There were a lot of others that all influenced this in their own, subtle way, as well as a few reviewers of my other YGO fics. ;) Thanks, people.

**Dialogue note:** A lot of the dialogue is almost completely copied from the subs. The Yami-Ushio game and the Yuugi-Jounouchi "scene" pretty much contain that. Credits to the creators, and to the amazing subber who translated it.

Feedback is amazing. Trust me, there's plenty of meat in this to work with, whether it's obvious or not. Whether or not I finish this depends on the reaction – and that isn't a threat, though I apologize that it does sound like it; it's the truth. I can't finish this without a reason to.

Hope you enjoyed. :)

_- Nitro_


	2. Game Two

**Awakening**_  
by NitrogenFixation_

**A/N:** Near-direct continuation of the first chapter. By the way, I'm now _highly_ recommending that you watch the episodes/read the manga chapters either before or after you read the story chapters, if you weren't already planning on it - at least for the early chapters. It'll get confusing sometimes, since the events of _Awakening_ generally will correspond with those of the show, or take place in the gaps that weren't filled in, and it's hard to tell which when I don't have the skill to both write effectively and make it clear at this point in time. For this chapter, I guess I'll tell you that the first part is Yuugi waking up, and in the beginning of episode 2, he's at the table with his grandfather, eating, the Millennium Puzzle on the table between them. I'll also apologize in advance for how difficult it is to keep up with. Don't read right now if you're particularly tired. I had a hard time doing that, and I _wrote_ it.

* * *

**Game Two**

The shadows coiled around his hands softly, wrapped around him, pressing in on him gently, curling around his throne. He didn't know how long he'd been there, allowing the darkness to encase him, to seep into his skin, into his flesh, until it ran through his veins - but it didn't matter.

_I am not...alone?_

He slowly began to realize this, feeling his breathing become a little quicker, a little more uneven - that of someone who is awake. He could feel his steady heartbeat, feel emotions not his own brush his skin.

_Warmth. Aching. Curiosity. Confusion._

The shadows dug in sharp, incorporeal claws sometimes - on his cheek, his shoulder, his leg, steady throbbing and aching, as if he had been struck by the very shadows that reminded him of these pains. The emotions traced across his skin, in his chest, in his gut. It was almost pleasant, the unfamiliar - _what?_ Something.

Stony caution settled in his stomach, as if finding himself in an unexpected situation. Sweet curiosity brushed his chest - like discovering some curious thing on his person that he'd never had before. A sudden burst of pain made his heart constrict, the ache streaking sharply across his leg, like a pre-existing wound he'd accidentally agitated.

But none of it was his own.

The emotions calmed slowly, the shadows stilling against his skin -

And then they ripped away, burning and itching and leaving him empty. His mind reeled as he opened his eyes and lurched forward, stumbling off his throne to the open door. He teetered, vision swimming, on the ledge outside the door, staring at the extensive labyrinth below, above, _everywhere_, mind desperately grasping in the sea of nothing for _something_.

_What -_

His heart thudded in his ears, blood rushing, and his chest felt hollow, desperate to draw in something that had been torn from him -

_...Yuugi..._

_No...please..._

_Don't leave me alone..._

The ache, the _need_, didn't subside as his body steadied, and he shivered, desperately reaching for that connection (_that was what it was, connection_) -

It wasn't there. There was simply emptiness, as if nothing had been there at all.

He straightened shakily, turning and quickly walking down the stairs, darkness so much deeper than before trailing after him, his eyes unfocused. He didn't look at his path, practically running as his breathing became uneven, hastened. His path blurred before him as he searched for the door - he didn't know why it mattered -

He took a sharp turn down a hall, his quick steps echoing off the walls, but none of it reaching him. His breaths never seemed to fill his lungs, the chasm in his chest steadily aching still.

And then - another turn - before him spread the broad platform, the darkened door opposite of him. He stared at it, the ache growing.

Shut. Sealed.

_Why?_

Shadows hovered at the edges of his vision, all around him, pressing down, waiting for him to give out.

He steadied himself, pressed a hand over his eyes, and it was _irrational_ for him to feel so desperately lonely, for him to _need_ -

He froze.

Ice crawled down his spine and settled between his shoulders.

"_I don't."_

His eyes hardened, becoming cold. He turned and retreated, hands steady as stone, eyes set ahead, the memory of the ever-present ache banished to some distant corner of his mind.

_I need nothing. No one._

He didn't - he _wouldn't_. Even if that meant being alone.

His mind void of thought, he wandered the labyrinth of his mind, choosing to lose himself to its depths and twists and the infinite paths rather than to the pain of his thoughts, his memories. His chest ached, and something murmured unintelligibly at the back of his thoughts.

The shadows crept on the walls, the ceiling, trailed after him, flickering and fading as the stones continued to provide dim light. "_How long has it been?"_ he wondered - maybe out loud, he didn't know. The shadows gave him no answer, weaving around the highlights and seeping into the cracks of the stone. His steps may have been in slow motion - the entire world may have been in slow motion for all he knew - and he had nothing to measure the passage of time by.

Moments. Minutes. Decades.

_Too long._

His steps paused.

_What..._

Something was shifting, something outside of himself - yet he could feel it, the ache growing, desperate.

_Yuugi?_

His breathing softened. His heartbeat steadied.

And, as he drew in a slow, sweet breath, the pain faded. An emotion, one that he couldn't quite identify, brushed his skin like a silken mist - something akin to happine-

_No!_

He pressed it away, pressed it back until it was only a distant, unidentifiable sensation.

He stared at the stone steps before him, burning eyes boring into it like white-hot flame.

Moments dragged by, turning steadily to minutes, and he clenched his teeth and walked on, searching, the emotions burning intensely in the back of his mind. He icily pressed them back further. He hated the heat, the scalding, the shock of such strong, deep emotions - emotions of someone soft but passionate, reserved but intense, brushing away the ache of hollowness, the pain of lonelin-

_Leave me alone..._ The heat wasn't soothing, not now, but focused, intense, blazing steadily even as he tried so desperately to block it out.

_I need no one._

He stared ahead, blindly wandering up the next staircase. He couldn't rely on the emotions to rid him of that pain; he couldn't rely on _connection_. Doubtless, no one would be there when it counted, and then that pain would return tenfold, bringing with it a debilitating, desperate need. When had anyone ever been there for him, when -

He stopped, eyes unfocused.

_N-never._ No one had been there. No one had _saved_ him -

But...wasn't that a lie?

His teeth clicked as he clenched his jaw, lips drawn back in frustration. Pain. _Why?_

Why was he so concerned about what that _boy_ would do? He shouldn't care so much; not long ago, he hadn't even known of the boy's existence. Why should he care? Why _did_ he care?

But, no. He couldn't - wouldn't. The boy meant nothing to him.

"_Nothing at all,"_ he murmured silently to the shadows.

* * *

Time trickled by, ungauged, countless seconds streaming like a trickling stream into an ocean of stretching, painful millenniums. The drifting darkness carried the gentle touch of emotions; passing curiosity, amusement, and the faintest distress drifted across his skin, unheeded and unbidden. The soft coil of warm contentment reached for where his heart ought to be, and was pressed back fiercely. Emptiness followed in its wake.

The emotions of his host were consistent, but mostly fleeting. A constant tingle of anxiousness rested lightly on his shoulders; the eager probe of curiosity built in his head, a strange sensation of gentle internal pressure. It was ever-present, no matter how much he pressed it away, and as the measureless time passed him by, his resistant retreat faded into listless wandering.

The halls of the labyrinth were hopelessly twisted and coiled about each other, every surface a path, every step an uncertainty. He was sure that it _moved_ sometimes, when the emotions surged a bit. Mid-step, his stomach would drop and gravity reeled as he struggled to catch himself even though the logical part of him insisted that nothing around him had caused him to stumble. He saw, when he regained his balance, that the shadows, too, had shifted, and knew something, somewhere, had changed, even though it remained unproven.

He wandered without purpose, the snaking shadows coiling along the ground, stretching between the thin highlights of the sandstone bricks, reflecting light from a flame that didn't exist. At times, he thought that the shadows were much more prominent than the light, when he was trying most to beat down the emotions; the dark around the dim light, and his sight would be obsolete in the depth of the encompassing darkness, though his steps never faltered, his path never wavered from its unseen, unknown course. The shadows of feeling coursing through him dulled with the light, and a strange _lack_ was left - sometimes, only sometimes, his steps would pause, and he could _feel_ his mind fading into confusion and lostness.

The shadows in him would jolt to life with something akin to flaming, burning fear, no longer a distant feeling, but now surging out from a deep, unknown wellspring; the light of nothing would flare blindingly around him, and his eyes cleared, and the gentle emotions would return.

And he would continue.

Sometimes, he would feel the boy's weariness and the light would flicker warmly as sensations caressed his skin. Sometimes, he would feel the nearness and he felt something deep and slow-burning on his soft-beating heart; then he would shove it all into the back of his mind, and the light would dim, and he would be frozen, counting the uneven beats of his heart until the strange sensation of closeness faded, and his resistance dropped away, and the light drifted softly into place again, dancing with darkness.

It made him angry, somewhere deep in the cavity of his chest. What _right_ had the boy to be so near to him? What _right_ had the boy to draw him into this unknown? What _right_ had the boy, to come and go, near and far, as he pleased, without regard? _What right?_

None at all.

He pressed away distress as it swelled once again, concern mingling with it. The feeling had steadily grown with the passage of time, tracing lightly in his veins. He was unmoved. It mattered nothing to him.

But the feeling did not seem _reaching_ - not _distant_, as the others had. It was the strange sensation of a blade's edge lightly tracing across the inside of his vein, leaving no wound but still a sting in path. Curiosity pressed on his mind - his brow furrowed as he halted in the shadowy hall. The light glimmered in the corner of his eyes. The darkness slid beneath the gleaming highlights.

He blinked slowly at his path as the distress dimmed and embarrassment that went unheeded settled on the back of his neck, and began walking again, the curiosity guiding his steps. Darkness swirled eagerly after him, the light soft and guiding.

Anxiousness crawled slowly beneath his skin as he turned left, stepping up onto the stairway before him, one that went up five steps and down eight, then to a right turn. He paused at the left turn, gazing at the broad platform spread before him, many choices of doors and stairs to enter the labyrinth to his left and right. But the focus of his gaze was the dark, near-black door opposite him, surrounded by coils of darkness.

A surge of fear dropped him to his knees and curiosity fell away from his mind, his heart suddenly lodged in his throat.

His pulse thudded in place of the distant heartbeat that had been there before; the boy's trembling horror encompassed his skin and contracted, a harsh pressure that forced the air out of his lungs. He felt his voice gurgle in his throat at the feeling.

_Why...What's..._

The half-formed thoughts passed too quickly for him to grasp onto; only fear remained. The shadows surged, blazing, through him, as his heart raced and his body trembled.

_Stop..._

Darkness - soft, gentle darkness - curled around his arms and up to his body, calming. The panic-stricken fear suddenly seemed aware of the foreign thing, and its painful grip slowly loosened, dulling into the sensation of frost settled on his skin. He shuddered, lifting his eyes painfully as his vision cleared.

_Why...?_

The darkness, foreboding and burning with rage, pressed out with ferocity. The light around him flickered and shifted, no longer still but now shifting, streaming along the highlights like a current. His mind steadied slowly, the darkness growing as the light slowed its sudden, chaotic motion.

Moments - undefined, infinite moments - passed by with jolts of suddenness, as if one would drag on and a billion would tick by at the same time. He tried to organize his mind, but the darkness coiled through it, his face twisted into a sneer and his eyes ablaze.

For the first time, as if by some inherent instinct, he reached.

_Anzu_ was the first word he got, accompanied by protectiveness and panic and something he couldn't identify. _Gun, danger, killpainhurtdie -_

_Stop!_

Light surged. The darkness hissed and he felt silent rage roar and claw desperately for vengeance.

The light flashed and faded and the darkness sneered and swirled within him.

He smiled.

_Game time._

* * *

Oxygen flooded his lungs, filled with fury and encroaching wrath. Shadow-lit crimson eyes took in the cold glint of metal at a glance. The darkness hissed for judgment as he noted the red mark on the boy's precious one's face.

"_Those who manhandle my precious Anzu will suffer,"_ he warned, his tone light and detached, though the darkness in his eyes gleamed with rage. The shadows warningly on him, and the sneering darkness checked itself.

_He will suffer in due time._

"_However, I like letting chance decide that."_ Feeling glass and weight in his hand, he set the bottle before the opponent. He chuckled. _Such petty things. They matter nothing, for you will soon face eternal judgment, your deepest darkness... "I brought it, just as you wished."_ He slipped lightly into the seat across from the man.

"Hey, who said you could stay?" growled the man angrily.

"_Hmm? I just thought you'd want a game partner."_ The darkness burned eagerly, the shadows prowling. "_It's game time."_

"A game?" The man was smirking with cruel amusement. "I guess I'm interested for now." He removed a cigarette from the packet formerly placed by the bottle, gripping it in his teeth while still smirking with pride. "In the past, I gambled non-stop."

He only smirked lightly. "_However, it will be no ordinary game."_ The raging darkness sneered. _Judgment will be passed... "It is a Yami no Game, a game where your life is at stake."_

The other had not expected that, but grinned anyway. "Sounds like fun! What are the rules?"

"_The rules...just one."_ Shadows curled readily around his fingertips as he lifted his hands demonstratively. "_And that is, of these ten fingers, none are to move except the one that you choose. We each choose our own...and only that finger can be used."_ The darkness rested in wait, predatory and watchful. "_So. Which finger do you choose?"_

The opponent scoffed. "If that's the case, then of course it's the pointer finger - the finger used to pull the gun's trigger."

"_Okay. Then I choose this finger."_ His dark eyes gleamed as he curled all his fingers but his right thumb with an ever-growing smirk. The other looked amused as he began pouring his drink from the bottle, the gun pointed steadily at its target. "_After the game starts, you can do as you like, even pull the trigger. So..."_ The darkness roiled in him, demanding justice. Crimson eyes narrowed on his opponent's. "_Let's go. Game start!"_

The opponent laughed abruptly. "One second in and it's game over!" There was a soft clink of metal as the lighter in his hand flipped open, his right thumb the cause. The opponent glanced at it with faint surprise, as if seeing it for the first time. "Ah. That's right. It hasn't been lit yet." His expression was annoyance.

The shadows shivered over his skin as he reached out and sparked the flame with a flick of his thumb. The flame lapped at the end of the cigarette, setting it to embers. The criminal inhaled and exhaled briefly, satisfied. Darkness coiled eagerly in his fingertips.

"_The lighter..."_ The opponent glanced at him. "_You can have it back."_ His hand tilted and the metal slid smoothly down, landing flat on the back of the other's hand, the bottle still sideways in its grip.

Fear flickered in the man's eyes, and the darkness hissed and pulsed, insatiable.

"_That's Russian Senowolf. Ninety percent alcohol."_ Fear faded into horror, and the darkness roared. He stood and slipped from the seat, looking at the opponent with cruel amusement.

_Wait..._

The shadows jolted and pressed in on his chest cavity. He shuddered invisibly and pushed it away.

"_I'd like to see you fire your gun,"_ he chuckled. "_The recoil would cause the lighter to fall."_ He looked at the helpless girl beside the man, the darkness softening. "_Let's go, Anzu."_ He gripped her arm gently and guided her from her place, leading her gently beside him.

He grimly glanced at her blindfold, but did not touch it. He started away from the man, the darkness hissing with dissatisfaction while the shadows anxiously snaked across his skin.

There was a soft click as the gun was set down, another as the lighter was closed.

_No!_

The shadows were overwhelmed by the roars of darkness. _Justice._

"_I knew you wouldn't be able to obey the rules."_

Shadows and darkness surged around them, burning with pain and rage. Crimson eyes narrowed as he stared into the man's true self.

"_The Yami no Game reveals the true nature of humans."_ The darkness prowled nearer to the man. "_For rule breakers, it's destined to be a punishment game."_

The embers of the criminal's cigarette flared. He growled and tossed it down. "You brat! How dare you feed me that!" He grabbed the gun.

"_The Door to Darkness...has opened."_

The criminal stared for a moment as the darkness lunged, then reeled, the gun firing. Greenish flames spread from the end, encompassing him and consuming him to burn forever - as far as his eyes saw, and his skin felt.

The darkness watched as it receded, wrath satisfied.

* * *

A heartbeat murmured in his ears.

Soft, light. Gentle. For a moment, as the shadows of confusion not his own swirled through his head, it was all he could hear. The darkness was calm, unresisting.

He opened his eyes. The walls glowed softly, the light warm and welcoming. Crimson gleamed as he stared at his surroundings.

The empty platform, darkness and shadows and light tracing the ground and walls and ceiling, seemed...different. He stood at the door from long before - _How long...?_ - and stared across and the deeper darkness that shrouded the one opposite him.

The familiar heartbeat, synchronized with his own pulse, prompted his step forward.

His footsteps were muffled on the darkness, but the steady _thud_ rang clearly as he walked to the door. Within a step of it, he paused.

_Why am I doing this?_

A shadow of emotion curled around his fingertips, and he did not push it away. He gazed at the door blankly, a tremor running through his hand. Slowly, the same hand pressed against the metal of the door, pulling it inward easily.

The darkness blazed in his wake as shadows clung to his heels.

The white room was open, glowing into the dim hall warmly. He stared, standing on the threshold. The room appeared unchanged at first glance.

His eyes flickered, almost automatically, to where there'd been shadows. The wall glowed bright - almost brighter than the rest. He frowned slowly.

But it was natural. _Darkness cannot exist in light, nor light in darkness..._ he reminded himself again. _Nor should,_ he realized as the white glow seemed to reach for him, stepping away, _such purity be tainted..._

The light could not reach him, so he stood still at the threshold of the dark door, gazing at the gentle, unnatural glow. A shadow coiled in his chest as the light pulsed softly.

He turned and stepped away, the door closing silently. The light shrank away from his path away from it. He did not look back.

Behind him, the darkness dimmed ever so slightly.

* * *

_Russian Senowolf:_ seems to be nonexistent. I have no idea what the actual drink was and don't feel like checking the manga to see if it's in there. Russian Senowolf is what the subs translated it as, and the subs are generally reliable for S0, so I'd be very surprised if they got it very wrong, but I Googled it and nothing worthwhile came up (and if you Google it, you may or may not facepalm at one of the things that comes up - I sure did).

_Mou hitori no ore:_ Forgot to do this in the first chapter. Means "other me" - it's the same as _mou hitori no boku_, used a la canon by Yuugi to refer to Y. Yuugi, but has a different word for "me." _Ore_ is more arrogant or proud, whereas _boku_ is meek. Both are masculine and informal ways to say "me." _Mou hitori no_ [insert word here] means "[the] other [insert word here]," as you may have already deduced. Thank you, randomgirl, for pointing that out to me.

* * *

**A/N:** I'm so sorry about this chapter. The first section was done quickly, then I couldn't figure out how to continue to the next section, so I kind of spent a month or so trying to do that, THEN I finally sat down after a day that had already been REALLY long without a bunch of writing to add to it (and I mean that I almost fell asleep at 5:30 in the evening because I was so mentally drained), and wrote everything else. It took about three or four hours, I believe, not including editing.

So yeah. Not my best work, but my obsessive perfectionism is too tired to be dissatisfied.

Also, read thoroughly. My brain is on symbolism overload from writing this chapter. It's ridiculous. My head's going to explode if I pack anymore symbolism in.

Again, the dialogue is mostly - wait, scratch that for this chapter - entirely from the subs. I modified a few lines that didn't make grammatical sense and left in one or two because it seemed closer, in my mind, to how Y. Yuugi would speak, or because the translation actually made sense in an odd way.

Final note: this chapter is about the length I'd had the first chapter originally (3500 words-ish), but it was kind of hard chapter to write. I'm really enjoying this, though, since I have such little plotting to do and can pretty much go crazy with characterization, which is my speciality. The only downside to writing this is that I won't be able to write in Ryou (and Bakura, but S0 Bakura is freaking psychotic to make up for the lack of Y. Malik) until much later, and even then, only a bit. Poor guy never gets any screen time, even when he's the (host of the) final boss.

Now then...very tired. Hoping for positive feedback, and that this was enjoyable. To all my reviewers last chapter, thank you very much, particularly randomgirl, who's an anonymous reviewer, so I can't reply directly. Thank you for your thoughts, and I'm glad you enjoyed it!

- _Nitro_


End file.
